


Guilty Pleasure

by cuckooforkookie



Category: Original Work
Genre: Action & Romance, Angst, Arguing, Boys Kissing, Daddy Kink, Dark Past, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Play, Drama, Drama & Romance, Drug Use, Enemies to Lovers, Erotica, Eventual Fluff, Explicit Language, F/M, Falling In Love, Forbidden Love, Funny, Guilty Pleasures, Hot, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, Intense, Jealousy, Law Enforcement, Light BDSM, Love/Hate, M/M, Meant To Be, Minor Violence, New York City, Pet Names, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Sex, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Praise Kink, Punishment, Romance, S&M, Sex, Sexual Content, Side Story, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Smut, Spanking, Suspense, Trauma, Trouble
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:08:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26612734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuckooforkookie/pseuds/cuckooforkookie
Summary: We're all guilty of doing bad things, but what happens when you get caught doing those bad things?Ivy Abernathy is guilty of a crime. In order to avoid prison time, she agrees to work for the very man she committed the crime against. She thinks she's working off her debt, but there's only one real way she can repay him. He doesn't want her time or money. He wants her life.No one is innocent in this game for two. The question is, who will win?
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	1. In Debt

**Author's Note:**

> New steamy work for you guys! This is outside of my usual fanfic genre but I hope you give it a chance :) <3
> 
> Connect with me & send me your requests
> 
> Instagram: x_haleykim_x  
> Wattpad: cuckooforkookie  
> Inkitt: haleykim  
> Email: haleykim830@gmail.com

“This is an offer you can’t refuse.” The attorney slapped a folder on the table, adjusting his bifocals to get a good look at me. I shivered underneath his scrutinizing stare. He had the kind of gaze that could turn you to stone. His name was Mendoza, but it should’ve been Medusa. I adverted my eyes to the grimy floors of New York’s cheapest law firm. I thought I saw a cockroach scurry into the corner of the room. “And quite frankly, you have no other choice.”

I did have a choice. Although, I’ll admit my options were limited. I didn’t have a full hand of cards that I could play. I only had two, but Mendoza’s disdainful eyes told me this wasn’t a game I wanted to play. In his words, it was one that I’d already lost.

“You can spend three months at his humble abode or you can spend three years in prison.” He opened the folder that enclosed photographs of a house that was anything but humble. It didn’t look like a home. It looked like a vacation resort. I rolled my eyes. “If you decline this very generous offer, he’ll be taking this straight to the police. He has lawyers that could put my áss in jail. You wouldn’t win the case.”

“I can do anything I set my mind to.” I folded my arms across my chest, growing tired of men telling what I could and couldn’t do. For now, I was a free woman and I sure as hell was going to act like it.

“Ivy, don’t be ridiculous.” My mother, Donna Abernathy, said from the other side of the room, her mouth hanging agape. “Do you know what happens to pretty girls like you in prison? You’re going to become somebody’s.... somebody’s....”

“Bítch.” Mendoza finished my mother’s sentence, pointing a chubby finger in my face. “You’re going to become somebody’s bítch.”

I stared at him blankly, unperturbed by that revelation. I’d done my research. I knew about prison bitches. I knew about everything. The crooked correctional officers, the handmade shanks that were fastened out of the sharpened end of a toothbrush, the drug trade going on behind closed doors— or more precisely— behind cell doors.

The thought of all of that did frighten me, but he frightened me more.

“You might act like you have a spine now,” Mendoza said with toxicity in his voice. His brown eyes were practically black now. “But someone in prison will break it.”

“I’m a tough girl.” I forbid myself to shrink underneath his tyrannical gaze. “I can handle myself.”

“That mouth of yours is going to get you in a lot more trouble than good.” He raked a hand through his salt and pepper hair, shaking his head like a disappointed father. “I can’t help you, Olivia, if you don’t want to help yourself.”

“It’s Ivy.” I corrected him with an icy glare, shifting in the hard plastic seat to get comfortable. “And it doesn’t seem like you’re helping me at all. That’s what I’m paying you for, right? To help me?”

“Yes, but I can only do so much.” Mendoza pushed the beige folder across the table until it was directly in front of me. “Go over the documents, read it thoroughly, and then make your decision. Everything you need to know is right between those pages.”

I grabbed it regretfully, wanting to get this sad meeting over with. The only thing we had established was how hopeless I was. I tightened my hold on the folder, knowing I’d probably burn it before I actually opened it up and read it.

“If this goes to trial, I won’t be going with you.” Mendoza replied quietly as my mother and I gathered our things. “Take his offer before he takes away three years of your life. You won’t get them back.”

“Maybe I’ll take something of his in return.” I stood up from the chair, turning my back toward the middle-aged Spanish man.

“That’s what got you into this mess in the first place.” He said underneath his breath.

I ignored him as I walked out of his office. I didn’t leave with a smile on my face. When I got home, I was going to write him a one star review on Yelp.

My mother and I parted ways outside of the small building that made up Mendoza’s law firm. It was nestled in between two other buildings, one of which was a family owned pizza shop. The other had been a meth lab at some point. Now, it was abandoned and all of the windows were busted out. The neon spray paint added a nice touch to it, though.

Before she headed to her silver Nissan and I to the crowded subway, my mother had some final advice for me. If you’re expecting some heartwarming words of wisdom or motherly concern, you’re going to be severely disappointment. My mother was too selfish and opportunistic for that.

“If you go to prison, you will be a disgrace to the Abernathy name.” She narrowed her blue eyes at me, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. Unfortunately, people walked around her. I shamelessly hoped that they would trample her. Okay, okay. I was a terrible daughter. “Can you imagine what your father would think? He would turn over in his grave, child!”

Yes, because at twenty-one years of age, I was still treated like a child.

“He’s dead, mother, just like my chances of being the perfect daughter.” I turned my back, walking down the sidewalk. I had a train to catch and I didn’t particularly feel like listening to my mother guilt trip me. “I’m not a college student anymore. I’m a criminal.”

* * *

A glass of wine was waiting for me back at my apartment in Queens. Thankfully, there was a sexy man serving it to me. Unfortunately, he was gay.

I swirled the red wine in the crystal glass, eyeing my best friend suspiciously. We only drank wine on special occasions when one of us had something big to announce and the only announcement I had was that I might be going to prison. Needless to say, that wasn’t something to celebrate.

I figured that it might have something to do with his career so I pried brazenly.

“What’s the big news?” I took a sip of the wine, welcoming the bittersweet cherry taste. “Are you going to be in fashion week?”

Will Carrington was an up-and-coming model— mostly coming as he slept with a lot of sleazy photographers just to get low quality photographs of himself in return. I didn’t judge him one bit. If he wanted to sleep his way to the top, I’d be cheering him on from the bottom.

“I wish,” He looked crestfallen as his full lips fell into a pout. He truly was handsome, duck face and all. I had no doubt in my mind that I’d see his gorgeous mug on a billboard one day. “Your mom told me about what happened at Mendoza’s. She said that I should look for a new roommate because you’re going to prison. After that phone call, I figured we both could use a drink.”

He took a drink of his wine, adding, “Orange jumpsuits are atrocious. Do you really think you can pull them off?”

I laughed, unable to stop myself from rolling my eyes. It was just like him to be concerned with prison fashion as if that was the most important thing to be worried about. It wasn’t.

“I heard the food’s gross, too,” He said quietly, staring at the ceiling. “And you know what happens to pretty girls like you in prison? It rhymes with grape.”

“My mother asked you to say that, didn’t she?” I groaned, downing the last little bit of the alcohol. I needed to be buzzed in order to have this conversation. I couldn’t deal with her nonsense when I was sober.

“She did it out of love... and self-preservation.” Will gave me a smile out of pity. “She doesn’t want you bringing shame to the precious family name.”

“She ruined our name when she slept with my father’s best friend.” I deadpanned as my hand tightened around the glass. “She’s the reason my father jumped off of that bridge and she has the audacity to blame me for ruining the family name? Unacceptable.”

Will ran a hand through his dirty blonde hair, shrugging absentmindedly. He didn’t like getting in between my mother and me. When she wasn’t berating me, she was making him homemade cookies and doing his laundry. He was the son she never had.

“Three years is a long time, Ivy.” His tone changed as a wave of sadness washed over him. His gaze lingered and his shoulders dropped. “What if I, like, die?”

“I’m the one that’s going to be living in a maximum security prison with murderers.” I patted him on the back playfully. “I think you’ll be fine.”

“I won’t. I’ve lived with you since I was eighteen. If you leave now, I’ll face abandonment issues and die.” He dropped down to his knees, interlocking his fingers in front of me. He was begging. He was actually begging. Before I could comprehend why a grown man would get down on his knees, he did something else unimaginable. He grabbed ahold of my leg and wrapped his own arms and legs around it. “I won’t let you go.”

“It’s my decision—”

“OH, WON’T YOU STAY WITH ME?” He broke out in a singsong voice, belting the lyrics to a song I didn’t recognize. “CAUSE YOU’RE ALL I NEED!”

I rolled my eyes, trying to shrug him off me but he had an unrelenting death grip. He wasn’t going to let go until I gave him an answer that satisfied him.

“I’ll think about it, okay?” I folded my arms across my chest, pressing my lips together ruefully. “I’ll go through the folder and see what he wants from me.”

“Great.” He let go instantly, having gotten what he wanted. He stood up from the ground, dusting his designer clothes off. They would need to be ironed as soon as possible. He grabbed the bottle of win, refilling both of our glasses. “Let’s celebrate your freedom.”

“I’m not free yet.” I downed the drink in one giant gulp, reaching for the folder on the countertop. Enclosed was an offer I couldn’t refuse, or could I? I’d certainly tried to decline it more than once.

I opened the folder slowly and carefully, expecting the pages to be laced with anthrax. On the contrary, they seemed clean, crisp and orderly. Whoever put this file together was a clean freak. The pages were printed evenly and their was even a table of contents to navigate the reader through the documents.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

1) CRIMES COMMITTED AGAINST SPENCER T. SCOTT

2) EVIDENCE OF CRIMES COMMITTED

3) OFFICIAL CHARGES AGAINST OLIVIA F. ABERNATHY

4) THE OFFER AND THE CONTRACT

5) PENALTIES

6) ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

My mouth dropped when I saw the last thing on the list. Had he really made acknowledgements on something like this? I flipped to the last page to find out and sure enough there it was.

I’d like to thank my secretary for putting this together and capturing the creative vision I set out for. Without her, none of this would be possible. I’d also like to thank the woman in question, Miss Abernathy herself. If she hadn’t stolen from my business, I wouldn’t be here. Thanks for stabbing me in the back, Ivy. Now, let me rub yours.

“He wants to rub your back?” Will asked, hovering over my shoulder. He, too, had read the insane document. “That could be nice. Who doesn’t love a good massage?”

“He’s talking about not pressing charges.” I sighed, rubbing my temples. “If I go work with him for three months, he won’t pursue any legal action. Supposedly.”

“You need to jump on that offer and ride it like a goddamn horse!” He shouted so loud that I had to cover up my ears. “Three months is better than three years.”

“You sound like my mother and Mendoza.” I covered my face with my hands, letting out a frustrated scream that I’d been holding back since I first found out about this sketchy deal weeks ago. “Am I the only one who feels like this is a trap? He doesn’t want me to work off my debt. He wants me to pay with my life.”

“Don’t be dramatic. There’s only room for one diva in this house and that’s me.” Will put an arm around me from behind, forcing me into an uncomfortable hug. I felt like he was giving me a chokehold. “Honestly, Ivy, I know what’s going on here.”

“An evil billionaire is trying to coax me into his house so he can exact revenge on the girl that tried to take down his company?”

“Hell to the no.” He furrowed his eyebrows, shaking his head back and fourth in disagreement. “This isn’t about him. It’s about you. You’re starting to feel guilty about what you did so you’re trying to compensate for it by ruining your own happiness. That’s why you’re so willing to go to prison.”

“Or maybe I’m right and someone’s out to get me.”

“The only person out to get you is yourself.” He grabbed me by the chin, tilting my head back so that I’d look him in the eyes. The sun from the window reflected in his irises, making them look golden. “Take the offer. It’s a good one. You’re acting like you’ve struck dirt, but you’ve struck gold.”

He kissed me on the forehead, muttering a final plea against my skin. He left me wanting more than he could ever give me. I watched as he walked out the door, sliding on a leather jacket on his way out. He was leaving to give me space to think about my decision, but I didn’t want to be alone.

Left to my own devices, I rummaged through the rest of the documents in the folder. There were pictures of me doing things that I shouldn’t have been doing. There was more than enough evidence to convict me. I felt my faith crumble. Mendoza was harsh, but he was absolutely right. If this went to court, I would undoubtedly lose.

In my haste of going through the pages, a small paper fell from the folder. It landed on the floor underneath my seat. I stood up, plucking it from the ground. Upon further investigation, it was a business card.

Spencer Scott

President & CEO of Scott Solutions & Holdings INC

1128 Sixth Avenue

New York, NY

I knew that address all too well. It was my former work place where I worked as an intern over the summer. In all my time there, I never got the privilege of meeting Mr. Scott, the twenty-eight year old man who headed the company. And now that I had the opportunity to meet him, I didn’t want to.

I stared at the phone numbers on the other side of the card. It displayed both the company’s number and his personal number. I knew this wasn’t his usual business card. Someone as high profile as him wouldn’t give their number out to the public. Women would hit up his phone like it was a chat line for desperate singles.

I couldn’t exactly blame them... from all of the photographs I’d seen of him online he was an eligible bachelor. He had the looks, the social status, the wealth. He had everything and I was the girl who threatened to take it all away from him.

As an aspiring journalist, it was in my job description to snoop and pry for information. I just never thought I’d cross the line of right and wrong to get a good story. Of course, I got caught as soon as I crossed that very line. And let me tell you, the grass wasn’t always greener on the other side. In fact, it was brown and dying.

On a sudden impulse decision, I dialed the number on the back of the card. It was his personal phone number and by the seventh ring I was convinced that he wasn’t going to answer the call. It was probably for the best.

There was a deep breath and then, “I’ve been waiting to hear from you. I was beginning to think you weren’t interested.”

“I’m not.” I panicked, hanging up the phone.

I let out a sigh of relief and then one out of horror. What had I just done? Had I just sealed my fate with two simple words?


	2. In Over My Head

I stared at my cellphone in horror as it rang to the tune of Hotline Bling. I needed to change my ringtone immediately, but I had bigger issues at hand that needed to be resolved first. The number was blocked, but I knew it was him.

When the call went unanswered, my phone lit up with an icon saying that I'd just received a new voicemail. I didn't want to listen to it, but my curiosity always got the best of me. I couldn't delete it without listening to it at least once. With a sigh of defeat I clicked the play button.

"Thanks for making time for me, Miss Abernasty." He growled huskily, clearing his throat. My brows furrowed at his disgruntled tone and the way he butchered my last name. I wanted to correct him, but I had to remind myself that no one was on the other end of the line. This was a recording, a hasty one at that. "I thought we could handle this like adults, but you're after all just a child—"

"I'm twenty-one! You're only seven years older than me!" I shouted into the phone, unable to hold back my anger. It didn't matter that he couldn't hear me. I had to speak my mind before I lost it altogether. He was undermining me through the phone and I couldn't respond or defend myself in anyway. That was exactly why I didn't want to work at his house for three months. If he was this cocky over the phone, imagine how narcissistic he was in real life. "Forget going to court! Take the law into your own hands! FIGHT ME!"

"SHUT UP, BITCH!" The woman in the apartment under mine hollered, hitting the ceiling with what one could only assume was a broom. Unless she was tall enough to beat against the ceiling like an ape. Which the more I thought about it, didn't seem all that unlikely considering she had an entire foot on me. I was barely five foot tall. To make me feel better about being vertically challenged, my friends said that I was fun size.

I collected myself, putting an abrupt end to my rant. If I didn't keep quiet, said neighbor would come to my apartment with that very broom and take it against my ass instead. Queens wasn't the most friendly neighborhood in the world. It didn't help that my apartment building had been busted for drugs about six times prior to me moving in. All of my neighbors we're either drug addicts or drug dealers. But for only nine hundred a month, I couldn't complain.

With a new calm exterior, I went back to listening to the voicemail.

"These are very serious charges that I have against you. They could go away or they could go to trial. It's all up to you, Olivia." He paused to take a deep breath and I found myself taking one too. I knew that I was in some serious shit and I had no idea on how to get out of it. The last thing I wanted to do was turn myself over to some power hungry businessman who had no regard for anyone but himself. He was a spoiled rich boy who always got what he wanted, but he wasn't going to get me. There had to be another way. Maybe I could get a second job and hire a better attorney. "My offer still stands, but the clock is running out. I'm not a very patient man. And the next time you hang up on me, the line won't be the only thing that goes dead. Have a wonderful day. I look forward to hearing from you soon."

The nasty tone of his voice told me that was a lie. He didn't look forward to hearing from me. What he looked forward to was controlling me like he controlled everything else in his life. Spencer Scott wasn't a good man and I was so close to proving that before I got caught red-handed. If I'd only had a couple more minutes to get away, I wouldn't have gotten caught by that pesky overweight security guard. Not only had my intelligence been insulted that night but my ego had been too. I couldn't even outrun a three-hundred-pound security guard and I'd done track all throughout high school.

I found myself replaying the voicemail over and over again, hanging on to every word that came out of his mouth. He sounded so smug that it made the blood in my veins run ice cold. I could just imagine the smirk that had probably been on his face when he left that rude voicemail. I wanted to smack it off him, but we were miles apart, and it was a little too late. He was in downtown Manhattan and I was all the way in Queens.

Even if I wanted to make a special trip to his office, I wouldn't get past the front doors of the towering skyscraper. Security was on high alert and I was blacklisted from ever entering the property. Everyone knew who I was and what I'd done to the precious business mogul. I'd be escorted off the property and thrown into the back of a police car. It wasn't worth it.

Or was it?

Clearly, the two of us were having problems resolving things with words. Maybe we could try to resolve our issues with our fists instead.

No. That was a terrible idea. I was already looking at theft and fraud charges. I didn't need to add assault to that list. But it was so tempting. I wanted to give Spencer Scott a knuckle sandwich so big that he choked on it. I was going down anyway, no matter how I looked at it. Would it really be that horrible to add another charge to my case?

Of course it was. But I had a taste for revenge that could never be quite satisfied. After all the dirt I found on him, he deserved a punch or two to the face. Maybe even three or four. It wasn't right that this city treated him like a God when he so clearly acted more like the Devil. He wasn't just a businessman. He was a criminal.

I tossed my phone aside haphazardly, standing up from the small kitchen table with determination set in my blue eyes. If Spencer Scott was going to take me down, I was going to take him down with me. All I needed was a disguise and I had the perfect one hiding in the back of my closet. A Halloween costume from the previous year when I'd been Jessica Rabbit. The red wig would make the perfect disguise. Unfortunately, the sparkly red dress would be a no-go. That would attract the wrong kind of attention my way.

With a new sense of purpose I rummaged through my closet until I found just what I needed. The wavy crimson wig felt like silk in my hands. I wasted no time tucking my dark hair back and sliding the wig over my head. It fit like a glove, but I decided to secure it down with some bobby pins. I didn't want the wig being snatched off my head. That wouldn't be good for anyone.

To complete the look I went for a navy blue pant suit that my mother had bought me years ago. It stayed in the back of my closet, never having been worn. It wasn't my style and it made me look too much like my mother. I'd never be seen dead wearing it, so it made the perfect cover. No one would expect that it was me.

I slid on some black pumps that made me about five inches taller. Sunglasses and a designer bag that I'd borrowed from Will's room were the last pieces to be added to my outlandish outfit. When I looked in the mirror I let out a defeated sigh. It wasn't because I looked bad or anything. It was because I looked like the woman my mother desperately wanted me to be. This was the daughter she always wanted, but it wasn't who I was. And it never would be.

With one last apprehensive glance in the mirror I grabbed my metro card and headed for the door. When I reached for the doorknob, the door came open by itself, exposing a very curious Will on the other side of the threshold. His hazel eyes were wide, his brows furrowed in confusion.

"What are you doing here?" I asked incredulously, trying to shield my face from his. He wasn't supposed to be back for hours and I looked absolutely ridiculous.

"I live here," he countered coolly. "And I forgot my sunglasses, but I can see you're wearing them."

"What can I say? They look better on me." I replied sarcastically, trying to deflect from the fact that I was wearing a bright red wig.

"I love the look you're going for." He gave me a small smile, eyeing me suspiciously. His eyes strayed from my red hair to the pant suit that clung to body like plastic wrap. "It's like Pennywise the Dancing Clown meets Hilary Clinton."

"Do I really look that bad?" I glanced down at myself apprehensively.

"I'm living for it." He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head in amusement. "You came here to make a statement and now everyone's listening."

"I'm changing." I turned around, but he reached out for my arm to stop me.

"I'm just joking." Will pulled me into a side hug, running a hand through his blonde hair. "You're absolutely beautiful. You look just like Lucille Ball herself."

"Thanks." I muttered underneath my breath, not really believing him.

"What's with this sudden makeover anyway?" He reached for a strand of red hair, curling it around his forefinger.

"There's this costume party." I quipped nervously, trying to sell it the best I could. If Will really knew what I was up to, he wouldn't let me leave the house.

"And who are you supposed to be?"

"I just threw some stuff together." I shrugged softly. "I didn't have time to find a real costume."

"Brownie points for effort, right?" He patted me on the back slowly, laughing underneath his breath. "Rock those glasses. I'll wear my Gucci ones instead."

"I still don't know how you afford this stuff." I looked down at the black Louis Vuitton bag that hung from my wrist.

"You don't wanna know either." He winked devilishly, slapping me on the behind as he walked into his room. "Have fun tonight, Ivy."

Oh, I was planning on it.


	3. In My Way

I stared up at the enormous skyscraper, watching how the sun reflected on the dark glass panels of the hauntingly elite exterior. I didn't belong here and I had the restraining order to prove it. However, it was a little too late to turn around now. I'd already hit the buzzer, gave a fake name and made up a scenario as to why I showed up at Montgomery House with no invitation. With no prior planning or thought, I was able to come up with quite a good cover story pretty quickly. Spontaneity had never been my forte, neither was lying, but bullshitting my way out of exams in college seemed to be all the training I needed.

I walked up to the establishment as none other than Ivy Abernathy, an ordinary college student by day and Spencer Scott's sworn enemy by night. When I was finally buzzed in, I stepped through the threshold with an air of arrogance surrounding me, emerging as Elizabeth Grant, a journalist turned News Anchor for Good Morning America. 

My façade was pretty comical, considering I was a journalist myself, but no one questioned that coincidence as soon as I dropped the words Good Morning America. I didn't even need to explain what I was doing there before I got the green light from whoever was working the intercom. 

What a shitty security team...

I knew that would work without a hitch. A man as prolific and arrogant as Spencer T. Scott loved only one thing more than making money and that was making a name for himself. He'd already done that ten times over, considering everyone in the five borough knew his godforsaken name. 

Everyone knew who he was. 

If it wasn't for his boisterous success that was repeatedly flashed on the covers of local newspapers and magazine spreads, his lavish and glamorous parties that were the talk of town but strictly limited to the rich and famous, the anonymous yet grand donations he made to the city that never really ended up keeping their anonymity, or the countless charities he founded on a routine basis, then it was all the billboards plastering his stupid name and smug little face all over the city like a dirty stain that wouldn't come out no matter how much bleach was used.

That's exactly what Spencer Scott was: a GIANT stain that was smeared all over Manhattan. One dirty little stain with a bunch of dirty little secrets.

The only type of publicity Spencer didn't receive a lot of was air time, primarily due to his short temper and excessive use of foul and inappropriate language. He had his fair share of time on movie screens, appearing in a few feature films and making several cameos in movies where he didn't belong. However, his time on regular television screens had been limited to commercials, usually for his own business, and a couple designer ads that he modeled, often without a shirt or pair of pants.

To most that amount of screen time would suffice, but the greedy always want more. People like Spencer can never get enough. No matter how much money is in their bank, or how many people love and admire them, they always need more. You can give someone the moon and they will want the rest of the solar system to go with it.

So, what did little Spence need to temporarily fulfill him? He wanted a broad platform where he could talk—more likely brag—about Scott Solutions & Holdings during a business segment on a televised network. Apparently, ads in commercials, only brought in so many new faces. The real exposure was in broadcasting, like what you see in infomercials or on the QVC network, but the holy grail in advertising would getting your own be a segment on the morning news.

I only knew about that because during my short-lived job as an intern at Spencer's corporation it was my sole responsibility to write to every single news station in the area on a daily basis, inquiring with every news station, hoping someone would be willing to pick up his boring story.

They weren't.

No one wanted to hear about a business that they were already aware of. Moreover, no one wanted to hear about a business that was already booming and beyond successful. All the local news channels were about giving the small businesses and start ups a chance, rather than helping the rich and famous become more rich and famous. That seemed to depress our little business mogul and that's where things first started to go wrong for him. Little did he know, his fall from grace would start off with something so small.

"Karma is a bitch." I whispered underneath my breath, remembering the chain of events that lead me right where I was standing. Face to face with my latest employer, a place I never expected to see again after I'd chose to quit.

Montgomery House was one of the newest and sleekest buildings in New York City. Paid for and designed by the man himself, Spencer T. Scott. It was home to several different businesses, but the main one being Scott Solutions & Holdings INC. Some time had past since I'd last been here, but everything still looked the same. Yet, I couldn't shake the feeling that everything was different down. That's because it was. I was no longer an innocent intern, looking for real life experience outside of my college classes. I was on my way to being nothing more than a convicted felon. Surprisingly, that didn't bother me, as long as Spencer Scott ended up in his own prison cell.

Looking down the belly of the beast, I couldn't help but think back to my last day at work. The day I chose to make Spencer Scott's world come tumbling down. I didn't know I'd end up dragging my own world down with his. If I had, I wonder if I would've made different decisions that day. Knowing how stubborn I am, probably not, but who really knows?

Instead of leaving a letter of resignation, I left a different kind of letter on my last day. One that my boss didn't take too kindly too. It was an open letter, one that was free for all to read. Well, it had been anyways, until the police took it down to investigate it on the grounds of defamation. Speaking of which, it should be illegal to charge someone with defamation of character if what they're saying is true. Anyways, my little letter turned out to be a can of worms that many people didn't want opened. I only ever saw Spencer Scott as my enemy, but my little manifesto put me front and center on a lot of people's hit list. Clearly, the defamation lawsuit I was facing was the least of my worries. Others were facing far worse than I was.

Back when I was an intern, I'd spend nearly everyday at this office building, working diligently and thanklessly for people who were too damn lazy to get there own coffee. That's all I did for two months. Take coffee orders and make frequent trips to the nearest Starbucks, making trips repeatedly on a round-the-clock basis. I made sure every shift change had their coffee exactly how they wanted it. It doesn't sound bad until you realize your work space is on the top floor of a fifty story building. On good days, I could use the elevator. On bad days, I had to take the stairs. Every time I reached the top floor, I'd be called elsewhere. I never got the chance to rest while I worked here.

The only good thing that came from those ruthless trips were how toned my calves got and how quickly it happened. Other than that I felt like a complete slave to the industry, a useless one at that. The internship I signed up for promised that I'd get to use my creativity and learn real hands-on experience in the marketing industry. The only time I got to use my creativity was when the people I got coffee for wanted to try something new at Starbucks and let me decide for them. My internship was a total joke. Months down the line, I still hadn't progressed at all. Instead, I was given orders like I was a dog and I was accepted to follow them without question. I felt like I'd sold my soul to that place and I wasn't even making a salary.

Needless to say, I wasn't exactly happy to be back here after all that shit happened.

I hadn't expected to be back on the premises so soon. With a restraining order and legal charges hanging above my head it wasn't a good idea for me to be here. But I never claimed to make good decisions. In fact, I was more suited for making terrible choices. My mother always wanted me to be her perfect daughter, seeing as I was her only child, but I was the furthest thing from perfect. That was unacceptable in her eyes, so I tried harder to earn her approval, but she never agreed with who I was no matter what I did to make her proud. My efforts were fruitless because I would never be what she wanted me to be.

I was ordinary. I wasn't special. I was human. There was nothing unique about me. I was just like everyone else and because of that I made my fair share of mistakes. Nevertheless, I was well on my way to making another one.

Surely adding to my mother's immeasurable disappointment... a weight that I struggled to carry on my shoulders as it grew heavier each and every day.

I took a deep breath and stepped toward the glass doors the lead into my own personal hell. I'd never seen a place that looked so beautiful cause so much misery. It looked like a regular business to most people, but what I saw was a torture factory. The way they conducted business here was cutthroat and you had to be the best of the best to handle it. Most people couldn't thrive under that amount of pressure and ended up crumbling beneath it instead. Only the toughest and meanest could survive that kind of atmosphere. There was no room for mediocrity in a place like this. I guess that's why an ordinary girl like me could never truly fit in here.

"Can you get the hell out of my way or do I need to call a moving crew?" A man in a crisp, tailored suit pushed past me, nearly knocking me down in the process. I reached for his shoulder to stop myself from falling face first into the ground, in a truly feeble attempt to steady my balance. Almost instantly the man in question flung my hand off him as if my touch was infectious. That reaction alone was able to knock my confidence down a few pegs. He brushed his shoulders off quickly as if to wipe away my germs, turning around to face me in one swift motion, spinning on the heels of his designer shoes. "I don't remember saying you could touch me."

"Um.. well.. that's..." I tried my best to mirror his menacing tone of voice, all in an attempt to keep my back bone from giving out at that exact moment. It was a futile effort because I was having trouble looking this jackass in the eye. I couldn't bring myself to look up. He was probably just a branch manager for one of the several businesses that called Montgomery House home. Just because he had a tongue like a snake and an attitude as hot as hellfire didn't mean it was him. All of the people at the top acted the same. "That's because I didn't ask."

Sure, he exuded power and authority, but that didn't mean it was Spencer Scott that was standing before me. There were so many other possibilities as to who it could've been. It was ridiculous how nervous I was as my eyes ventured up to meet the awaiting glare of the man parallel to me.

"Well, you should've asked." He replied matter of factly, his voice colder than the autumn breeze had been against my calves on my way here. His crystal eyes narrowed like daggers in my direction, causing me to shrink beneath his smoldering gaze. My backbone was gone. One look into his icy blue eyes and I was spineless. "Nobody does anything around here without asking for my permission first."

It could've been anyone. There were twenty independent businesses inside of Montgomery House and hundreds of employees filling the extravagant hallways at any given point in time.

It could've been anyone... and yet it had to be him.


	4. In Violation

I was standing face to face with the devil himself, staring him dead in those mesmerizing but intimidating eyes of his. He kept my gaze for a brief second, lingering for a moment longer than what was necessary. Spencer Scott, the business mogul from hell, was staring at me. Yet, at the same time, he wasn’t. Well, he wasn’t looking at the me he was used to seeing. My natural caresses of mousy brown hair were expertly hidden behind curls of flamboyant red locks.

My lips worked in tandem with the wig on my head, blanketed in a vibrant cherry red lipstick that pulled the whole look together. The entire scarlet color scheme was shocking, like the bloodstains left behind from a violent crime scene. I looked like a beautiful rose, and believe me, I had the thorns I needed to protect myself. My thorns were in the form of a recently sharpened stiletto knife the clung to my left thigh beneath the leather straps of a garter belt. I only bright it for back up in case things got even uglier between Spencer and I.

In my normal life, when I was Ivy Abernathy, and not masquerading as a totally different human being, I’d never dare to look let alone act as bold as I was pretending to be. I preferred to do my biding quietly from the sidelines, working in the shadows in total silence, until I was ready to bring things to the light.

That’s why I’d been able to find out all the dirty little secrets of the man standing in front of me. If I’d been so brazen and blatant about investigating him from the start, there would’ve been no investigation. It would’ve been shut down before I even got the chance to outline an expose. In truth, it would’ve been over before it even started.

That’s one thing that I quickly learned when I entered the exciting but dark world of journalism. There’s a lot in common between detectives and journalists. It sounds cliche and even a little pretentious equating them to each other, but there really are several similarities between those career fields. They both start off with an investigation of sorts, journalists hunt for sources to get the big scoop, while detectives search for clues. However, there’s something they both keep an eye out for.

Evidence.

You can’t publish an expose without it nor can you close a case without evidence. It’s the missing link that we all search for instinctively, even when we don’t know what we’re looking for, and when we find it, it lets one decipher fact from fiction and the guilty from the innocent.

Evidence was more important to me now than it ever was. If I had proof that Spencer Scott was trying to penalize and punish me for my crimes himself, on his own terms, and in his own way, away from the prying eyes of the police, then the claims I made against him wouldn’t be so easily brushed off or covered up like they had been. I needed proof, and I hellbent on getting it, even if that meant falling victim to his demands.

Maybe that wretched godforsaken excuse of a lawyer, Mendoza, was right when he said that Spencer’s offer was one that I couldn’t refuse. It just took me a long time to come to terms with it, too busy waging a war inside my head, in an attempt to convince myself that spending some time in prison was better than spending any amount of time with him. I still thought that was probably true, but I could only do so much from behind bars. I’d only waste time by sitting idly in a cramped jail cell and the story I’d been working on would continue to be buried until I’d never be able to unearth it again.

That was a hard pill to swallow, but it was the cold truth. The only thing I’d accomplish if I went to prison was finally being christened as the failure my mother always thought I was. I loved doing the opposite of what my mom wanted, but that was the last thing I wanted to do. It was hard knowing that my mom thought I was a failure, but it would’ve been so much worse if I thought I was, too.

I could accomplish so much more beside him, but if I bowed down to Spencer Scott like an obedient little puppy, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever get to leave his side.

“Jesus! How long are you going to stare at me?” He broke the silence that had grown on us like mold, narrowing his eyes at me in confusion. When I hesitated on answering him, he reached down, curling his index finger around one of the crimson strands of hair. In a silent prayer, I hope and prayed he wouldn’t tug to hard on it. That’s all it would take to send the wig flying off my head. It was only then, when I was in discomfort, that the corner of his lips lifted up. “I’m used to getting attention from the ladies, but this is my first time getting it from a clown.”

“Excuse me, sir?” I arched an eyebrow, my mouth hanging agape. It took everything in me to stop myself from smacking the awry smirk right off his face. I had to remind myself that I didn’t need to add assault to the list of charges I was facing. There was already enough potential time hanging over my head. “I am not a fucking clown.”

“Oh, please. Spare me on whatever you’re planning to say.” He sighed deeply, giving me a lazy once over, barely interested in what he was observing. “You look like you crawled out of the same drainpipe as Pennywise. Speaking of which, you should go back to the sewer before you start stinking up the place.”

“Wow...” I shook my head in disbelief, sighing heavily.

“Aw, did I hurt your precious little feelings?” He asked sardonically, finally letting a smile light up his face, showcasing his bright teeth. If my embarrassment hadn’t been the sole and only means to make him grin like the Cheshire cat, I might’ve let it slap that a smile looked better on him than all the flashy jewelry did. His gold Rolex, even with all it’s sparkling diamonds, couldn’t shine nowhere near as bright as he did when he smiled. Sadly, his smile was an accessory he didn’t like to wear very often.

“No, I just never realized how hard you rich people work. Poor you. You must be so tired...” I softened my eyes by batting them slowly, feigning the utmost sincerity I could possibly manage. “I mean, you’re out here all day exhausting all of your energy to be the world’s biggest asshole. That must really wear you out, huh? Well, with as hard as you’re working to be a jackass, I’m sure you’ll end up becoming employee of the month soon.”

“Oh, honey, I highly doubt that.” Spencer’s smile suddenly vanished, almost like it had never been there at all. However, even with it disappearing as quickly as it had appeared, there was still a hint of amusement in his voice. “I’ll never be an employee because I’m a fucking boss. Now, I think it’s time you listen to me, yeah?”

“Or what? I’ll get fired?” I challenged him, crossing my arms over my chest, as a chuckle escaped my lips. It was hard to keep a straight face when I was playing him like an damn instrument. I didn’t even work there anymore. So, in reality, I didn’t have anything to lose.

“There’s far worse things than losing a job, silly.” He joined in on my laughter, only to completely go quiet a moment later. His rigid and abrupt change in demeanor had me in a fit silence too. “Like losing your life...”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” I took a step away from him, feeling a sense of unease wash over me. It wasn’t long before I felt like I was drowning in it. Something didn’t feel right and it wasn’t the itchy wig on top of my head. “Oh, would you look at that? I’m running late! I need to go.”

“Finally! That’s one thing we can both agree on. It is time for you to go.” Without so much as a goodbye, or an apology for all of his rude remarks, Spencer turned on his heels to walk away. He was only a couple steps in his journey when he looked over his shoulder. “Hurry on home to the sewer now. The rest of the rats probably miss you, Ivy.”

The blood in my veins ran cold at the sound of my name and I wanted nothing more than to disappear into thin air. I thought my disguise was working wonders, but apparently, it wasn’t working at all.

How naive it was of me to think he wouldn’t remember the face of his own enemy.

Deep down when you hate someone, and I mean truly hate someone, it’s a torturous process trying to forget their face. No matter how hard you try to bury it along with their entire memory, it always finds its way back to the surface. Their face haunts you relentlessly, reminding you of exactly why you hate them in the first place. My memory was burned into the back of his mind, constantly scratching and clawing it’s way to the front. It was foolish of my to think I could really sneak back into Montgomery House without him recognizing me.

“You knew?” Those feeble words were the only thing I could bring myself to say, too scared that if I said too much, I’d reveal the trembling behind my voice. I could handle looking dumb in front of him, but I couldn’t handle him seeing me weak. I would’ve rather died than give him the satisfaction of seeing me in such a fragile state.

“How many times do I have to tell you?” He shook his head, rolling his eyes with a sigh of disappointment. “I know everything and you’ve proven yet again that you don’t know anything.”

“I thought the problem was that I knew too much.”

“If that was true you would’ve known better than to pull a stunt like this.” Spencer shrugged the jacket of his suit off his shoulders, letting out a low-bellied laugh as he he undid the fancy cufflinks on his white dress shirt. “Does your mother know you’re here? I bet she’d be disappointed to learn that you’re trespassing and violating a restraining order.”

“Are you seriously stripping right now?” I stared at him incredulously,my eyes bugging out of my head at the scene transpiring right before me. It was hard to take his threats seriously when he was slowly losing articles of clothing.

“Sorry to disappoint you, but no, you’re not going to see my gorgeously toned abs.” He scuffed with a shake of the head, rolling the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows, putting the cufflinks neatly back in place. “I think it’s my turn to ask some questions, but more importantly, your turn to give me some answers.”

“Yes? No? Maybe so? I don’t know?” You listed off some common answers, giving him exactly what he demanded from you. When he didn’t look amused or satisfied with your answers, you tried another classic. “To get to the other side?”

“You must think you’re so clever, Miss Abernathy.” The use of my surname caught me off-guard, or maybe it was the frigid way Spencer said it. I felt a chill go down my spine, making me straighten up my slouched posture. I was getting too relaxed, letting my guard down while I was standing on enemy territory. “I wonder if those are the same answers you’ll give the police when they ask what you’re doing here?”

“But—”

“Wait! How could I possibly forget?” He cut me off coldly, giving me a harsh glare. “They won’t need to ask any questions once they’re informed that you’re violating an active restraining order.”

“You’re the one that’s been contacting me.” I took a step towards him, close enough that no one else could hear our conversation. “You’re the one that’s been texting and calling me for weeks. In case you didn’t know, a restraining order works both ways, Mr. Scott.”

“Oh, I’m well aware, honey.” His lips pulled into a devilish smirk, exposing his wickedly smug attitude in all of its awful glory. “That’s why I used a burner phone to contact you.”

“Fuck! You’re such a raging asshole!” I cursed underneath my breath, clutching the handbag that hung off my shoulder. I looked away as my knuckles began to whiten as anger boiled beneath the surface of my calm exterior. “What the hell do you want from me, Spencer? I’m tired of playing your games.”

“This isn’t a game, sweetheart, and need I remind you that you’re the one playing dress up right now?” He offered me a bemused smile, raising a hand in my direction, causing me to to flinch automatically. I wholeheartedly expected him to hit me, but I was surprised when he reached for the wig instead. He ripped it from my head, exposing my brown hair that was pulled back into a pony tail. “As for what I want, Olivia, it’s simple really.”

“Nothing is ever simple with you.” I let my hair down, running my hands the unruly strands, unable to stand still. I needed a distraction from the alarming man standing directly in front of me. It was strange how someone so beautiful could also look so frightening. I wasn’t sure if I regretted showing up here like this or if I was mad that I hadn’t done it sooner. “What do you really want from me?”

“Well, for starters, I never want to see this tacky fucking wig again.” He said as he threw it into a basin that was behind us. Before he continued, he looked over his shoulders to make sure no one was near us in the lobby. “But what I really want, what I truly desire, you can’t give me.”

“Why?”

“Because I want you.” He reached out to touch my face, but I caught his hand just in time in time to stop him. I held it for a second longer than I should’ve and he seemed to notice. “I want your head—”

“You want me to give you head? As in fellatio?” I asked a little too loudly, garnering a few confused looks from the office workers that passed by. I was too disgusted to care about being discreet anymore. “You want a blowjob? You want me to suck your little—”

“It’s not little, but sadly for you, you’re never going to have the pleasure of seeing my big cock. You’re not my type and you didn’t let me finish.” He pursed his lips, his jaw clenching tightly. “I want your head handed to me on a silver platter.”

Well, that wasn't exactly where I thought this was going...


	5. In Too Deep

My mother always said I behaved a little too impulsively. She often told me I was like a child who never considered the consequences of their own actions. In my defense, it was hard to behave like an adult when I had an overbearing mother that always treated me like nothing more than an ignorant child. Growing up while she grew old was a very tiring experience. The more years that passed, the more nagging there was.

The last time I'd heard an exhaustive mantra of hers I'd been at Mendoza's law firm to discuss the bare bones of my case against Spencer "the asshole" Scott. We didn't get much talking done that day before I stormed out of the law office with my hands in the air. My mother used that as a point in her argument that I was too spontaneous. However, that wasn't about me being impulsive. It was about me being fed up. 

How could I not be? Seriously? Everyone around me wanted me to make a deal with the devil and I refused to oblige their ludicrous demands. It didn't matter if that decision ended up with me losing my freedom because at least it was my choice. Of course my mom didn't approve of my choice and you can believe she took every opportunity to let me know that I was making a huge mistake by not accepting Mr. Scott's offer. Even so I preferred making a bad decision than letting her control my life. It was bad enough she picked the college I went to. It was no different when it came to the situation I was currently in. My mom desperately wanted to make the decision for me, like she'd always done, but I wasn't going to let her have power over me any longer.

Going to prison wouldn't be my first time losing my freedom anyhow. My on mother had been taken it away from me on and off my whole entire life. Sadly, it was something I'd become used to. It made being incarcerated have a certain appeal to it in a ludicrous kind of way. 

Why you might ask?

Because I'd get a prolonged vacation from my mother for the first time in my entire life! There was also the fact that going to prison meant that I'd be tucked safely away behind a slab of metal bars somewhere far, far away. All I really wanted to do was put as much space between myself and both of the tyrannical heathens that were wreaking havoc over my life as soon as possible.

However, that wasn't exactly working out too well for me though.

At that exact moment in time, Spencer Scott was right in front of me, standing stoic like a statue. We were merely separated by a couple small footsteps. It would've only taken half a second to close the distance between the two of us, then we could've been face to face with each other again. However, instead of inching forward, we both stayed frozen in our respective spots. To be fair, it was likely for the best that we maintained some sort of distance between us.

Things got a little heated in the lobby on our way up here. All the office workers on their commute back to work had stopped in the middle of the foyer to stare at us. The attention only died down when Spencer threatened to have everyone fired. I wasn't sure how he could manage that considering half the workers around us weren't even his employees, but nevertheless, they listened to his threat like it was imminent.

Once there wasn't much attention on us, he ushered me towards the elevators, which opened up to reveal that no one else was inside. 

I'd never experienced a more awkward elevator ride with anyone in my entire life. It seemed like the tension around us got thicker with each floor that we passed, making the enclosed space all the more claustrophobic. When we reached the thirteenth floor, I practically ran out of the lift to alleviate the overwhelming sensation that overtook me. It was a mixture of uneasiness and stress and all of it came from simply standing next to Spencer Scott for a little more than sixty seconds. He was so intense that it was almost impossible for me to stay calm when I was near him in any capacity.

That's why I needed to be more careful about approaching him like this. In fact, I probably shouldn't have looked in his direction in the first place. I should've sat my ass at home with Will and watched reruns of America's Next Model. Instead I was practically working on America's next scandal. If anyone saw me here, a shit storm would be thrown my way. Maybe my mom was right about my impulsiveness to a certain degree... not that I would ever admit it to her.

It was obvious I didn't think any of this through like I thought I had. If I'd even given it half a thought, I would've known that it was a very bad idea, and turned my ass around immediately. I may as well have had "stupid" written across my forehead. 

Now here I was, in his private office, all alone with him where there were no witnesses. I really thought he was going to kill me for half a second, but I convinced myself that it was just my anxiety talking. Or so I hoped...

Once we were confined by the four walls of his office, he instructed me to sit on the floor because the furniture was only for trusted office personnel and clientele apparently. That made me feel like a child who was being put in time out when he ordered me to sit down like that. He stared at me intently, waiting for me to sit down, but I stayed standing. I did what I'd always done when it came to Spencer Scott. I chose to ignore him, knowing that was my best option. If he saw me flustered or bothered, I'd only be adding more ammo to his arsenal.

"Humor me." He finally spoke from across the room, turning around to inspect me with narrowed eyes. I was still standing, embracing the discomfort that came from my high heels. "Why are you incapable of following the simplest of directions, Miss Abernathy? Are you stubborn or just plain ignorant?"

"Neither." I shook my head, holding his gaze firmly, even though I wanted nothing more than to scurry in the opposite direction. I refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he intimidated me. "I'm not a dog. I'm a woman in case you didn't know. I don't take orders from men that have some narcissistic notion that they're in charge of the world. It's a free country. I don't know what you think you are—"

"Not what but who." He interrupted me loudly, his dark eyebrows furrowing together in contempt.

"That has never mattered to me and it never will." I returned the scowl he was openly sending my way, hoping my words would knock his ego down a peg or two. Sadly, I didn't have high hopes for someone that was as conceited and self-serving as he was. "You're not a dictator, therefore you don't make the rules."

"Are you aware of what a CEO is, darling?" He was the only man I'd ever met that could make a term of endearment sound like a blatant insult. It infuriated me to know that he was looking down on me when he was nowhere near above me like he seemed to think he was. Well, physically, he did have close to a foot on me, and financially, I would never be in his tax bracket... "I make the rules and then I enforce them."

But still that didn't change the fact that we were both human fucking beings. He behaved like a god and he wanted people to worship him like one. There was no way in fucking hell I would I ever lose my dignity by doing something pitiful like that.

"Oh then, it must really piss you off knowing that I broke every single one of your fucking rules." I couldn't help the faint smirk that tugged at the corner of my lips. I knew I wasn't making things any better for myself and my situation, but I couldn't keep quiet any longer. It felt so good giving him a piece of my mind, even if it was the first and only time I'd ever get to do it. Ultimately, he was probably going to call the police and get me in trouble for being here anyway. I didn't like going out quiet when I was still capable of making a bang. "I bet it's all you've been able to think about since I left this wretched place. That's why you tried so hard to get me back here, huh? Or maybe you just missed me?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Miss Abernathy. You're not nearly that important to me. On second thought, I doubt your that important to anyone." He tilted his head to the side, arching an inquisitive eyebrow. "If you think that highly of yourself, you should look in the mirror sometime. That way you can finally see a real narcissist."

"I'm not—"

"Aren't you, though? You took advantage of an amazing opportunity that was given to you and then you tried to sabotage the very person who helped you." He let out a exasperated sigh, pursing his lips together for a moment. "You're such a selfish little girl, Olivia. Will you ever grow up? I can only imagine how disappointed your mother is."

"I could say the same for you." I countered quickly. "How disappointed would your mother be if I told her—"

"Luckily, I'll never have to find out." He stared me dead in the eyes and I found myself holding my breath. His tone of voice softened ever so slightly, but the look in his eyes grew colder with each passing second. "You won't be telling my mother anything because she's dead."

I instantly felt like the world's biggest asshole, even worse than Spencer himself. A wave of regret washed over me heavily, making me bite my lip as I hesitated on my reply. I didn't want to say the wrong thing again. All I could think about was how much I wished I could take back my words. I knew what it was like to lose a parent. My father died when I was still pretty young and growing up without him was the hardest thing I ever had to do. No matter how bad Spencer Scott was, I wasn't low enough to drag his mother into this. I would have hated it if someone did the same to my father.

"Oh." I replied awkwardly, swallowing the lump in my throat, unsure of what to say. Taking a deep breath, I prepared to say something I never thought I would say to him. "I'm sorry."

"What?" He asked apprehensively, his eyes widening like he was at a loss for words.

"You heard me." I grimaced as I repeated myself for the second time. It was oddly painful having to apologize to him. I could feel my pride disintegrating right before me. "I said that I was sorry."

"Was?" His eyes squinted in my direction, lit with a sudden twinkle of mischief. He was milking this for all that it was worth and loving every minute of my suffering.

"I am sorry." I corrected myself, cursing underneath my breath. "I'm never saying that again, so don't get used to it."

"I didn't know you were capable of feeling remorse." His lips betrayed his amusement as he offered me a wry smirk. It was the first signs of a genuine smile coming from him. I wasn't used to it at all. He always reserved his frowns and grimaces for me. This was new territory for me and I had no idea how to navigate it. "I accept your apology, Olivia, but I can't forgive you."

"You shouldn't." I nodded confidently, turning towards the door, hearing my heels smack against the tiled floor. "Because I'm still going to ruin you."

"Not if I destroy you first." He slapped a black folder on his desk, making me stop dead in my tracks. I knew what it was before I even turned around to face him. It was the contract he made for me. The one I ripped into pieces and threw in the trash before coming here today. "This could save your life or end it forever."

"If I have to sell my soul in order to save my life, then I'm not really saving anything, am I?" I crossed my arms across my chest, tilting my head to the side thoughtfully. "In fact, I'm losing even more that way."

"I don't want your filthy soul." Spencer sighed quietly, shaking his head in exasperation. "I just want some of your time."

"And just how much of my time do you want exactly?" I glanced at him dismissively, knowing any answer from him would be too much. He didn't deserve anything from me.

"However much it takes." He ran a hand through his dark hair, disheveling the perfectly combed strands. He opened the folder slowly, placing an ink pen on top of the first page.

"I'm not signing that." I rolled my eyes, slipping my hands into my pockets. "I didn't come here to do that. No way."

"Then, what did you come here for?" He narrowed his eyes, tapping his foot against the floor impatiently. "Were you hoping to accomplish something or were you simply craving the taste of failure again?"

I had to admit he had me there. Honestly, I wasn't really sure why I had stepped foot in his building today. I knew I should've ran in the opposite direction instead. It was obvious that I was doing something that I shouldn't have been doing. That's exactly why I'd worn that god awful wig in order to disguise myself from prying eyes. Still I didn't know what my motivation was for taking such a risk. Maybe I just wanted to feel like a bad-ass who could stand up for themselves instead of cowering away in submission.

Unfortunately, standing there now in front of Spencer Scott's glacial stare, I was the very opposite of what I wanted to be. I wasn't a bad-ass at all. I was a scared little girl. There was so much for me to be afraid of and I was tired of acting tough. That was the first time I admitted it to myself and once I said it I couldn't take it back. Spencer was right. I had come here for a reason even if I didn't want to believe it.

I know I'm going to regret this...

"So where do I sign?"

"On the dotted lines." Spencer replied nonchalantly, pointing at the bottom of the page with his index finger. "Right there."

Before I knew it I was signing my name across the page sloppily, then once more but this time in print per his request. I'd written my name down hundreds of times on top of my schoolwork throughout the years, but writing my name in his contract felt more ominous and foreboding than it ever had before. My thoughts were gnawing at the back of my head relentlessly, telling me to grab some whiteout and erase it immediately.

Olivia Faith Abernathy

"Did you even try to read it?" He furrowed his brows at me inquisitively, collecting the folder in his hands before I could change my mind. "You can read, can't you?"

"Yes." I rolled my eyes, walking away from him, intent on leaving this time. I needed time to process what I'd just done. "But if I actually read it, I'd probably never fucking sign it."

Sadly, that was the truth. If I'd read that contract thoroughly, I would've doused it in gasoline and lit it with a match right in front of him. Had I known what was to come back then, I probably would've run far away, even if it meant I had to run from the police themselves. 

A dark storm was brewing and it was headed my way.


End file.
